


Two Steps Forward

by CallieB



Series: Girl Forgotten [2]
Category: Once Upon a Time (TV)
Genre: "I'm not going to stop poking you until you give me attention", A Monthly Rumbelling, A Sudden Appearance of Hope AU, Amnesia, F/M
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2016-11-30
Updated: 2016-11-30
Packaged: 2018-09-03 07:50:32
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 2,699
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/8703820
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/CallieB/pseuds/CallieB
Summary: For the first time ever, Belle French has been remembered by someone. But that brings its own complications - she's a known thief, after all, and she's been isolated from her family and friends for seven years. Having police officer Rum Gold by her side means that she'll never be lonely again, but there's only so much he can do when every time he leaves her, he forgets her again...(Based on Claire North's excellent 'A Sudden Appearance of Hope', although won't make much sense without reading Part 1 - Square One.)





	

**Author's Note:**

> I started this for November's Monthly Rumbelling, but I've been moving house and playing around with ideas for a while, and anyway this feels like it could be the start of a four- or five-parter, so instead of rushing to slap something on the table I thought I'd post what I have so far since it makes up a good first chapter! I'm toying with the idea of incorporating further Monthly Rumbelling prompts into new chapters but we'll see. Progress is likely to be moderately slow since I'm also doing RSS, but hopefully this follows on well from the first part!

The sun is hot and spicy, beating down on the broad flagstones outside the restaurant and crisping the edges of the leaves on the palm trees. Safely inside the air-conditioned haven, Rum eats peaches and yoghurt and observes dispassionately – not for the first time – how little Regina suits the warm weather. Her cheeks are flushed and sweaty, and her trademark dark lipstick seems to be sliding off her mouth. Catching him watching her from across the restaurant – they’re at separate tables, since they’re undercover – she gives him a mutinous look.

Rum dabs at his mouth with a napkin and takes a delicate sip from his glass of orange juice, a small smile on his face. Regina’s discomfort is always a source of petty amusement for him.

His smile fading, he looks down at the table, to the small, crumpled piece of paper resting by his left hand. He’s as perplexed by it now as he was this morning, when he went into the bathroom to brush his teeth and found it taped to the mirror. He has no idea how it could have got there; it wasn’t there when he went to bed the night before, and he’s sure he would have woken if someone tried to slip into his room during the night.

 _Dear Rum_ , it reads. _I know you won’t remember me, my darling, but come and meet me for breakfast at 8 o’ clock and everything will make sense again. Please don’t tell Regina, or I won’t be able to find you. Sit at your usual table and I’ll tell you all about the thief you’re looking for. With all my love, your Belle._

It’s the mention of the thief, of course, that has Rum’s attention; he and Regina have been here now for some time on the hunt, and he’s beginning to lose hope that he’ll ever find the Houdini he’s been searching for. How does this mystery writer – Belle – know who he is, what he’s looking for? How does she know Regina’s name?

Perhaps he ought to tell Regina about the note; he certainly wrestled with himself on the matter before coming to the hotel restaurant. In the end, however, he decided to obey the orders given. If the writer is an informant, he doesn’t want to scare her off, and Regina is certainly more than a little frightening. So he waits, demurely eating his yoghurt and fruit, while anxiety bubbles in the pit of his stomach.

He’s nervous to meet the author of the note, yes. But there’s something more than that… the strangest feeling of déjà vu, as though he’s done all this before…

“Rum?”

He looks up; the voice belongs to a girl, standing in front of his table, with strikingly beautiful blue eyes and a wide beaming smile. She’s wearing a light floral dress and sandals, and her hair is twisted into a thick braid.

For a moment, he doesn’t know her. Doesn’t recognise her. She waits, still smiling, her eyes fixed on his.

Then it all comes rushing back, and he breathes in a heavy, deep sigh, like the first breath of a man drowning for far too long. “ _Belle_.”

Her smile, if possible, grows even broader. “May I sit down?” she asks, a little twinkle in her eyes. He grins stupidly, gesturing towards the chair across the table, and she sits.

“Every day you have to do this,” he marvels, not for the first time. “Every day you have to remind me.” And she _has_ done it every day; every morning for the last nine days, ever since that first night when they met, when they kissed, when he remembered. Whatever curse is on her, weighing her down, has not been broken as they had initially hoped. He still forgets, whenever she’s not with him. But now, when he sees her again, he remembers not just their current encounter, but every other memory of her. It’s like dying and being reborn; she brings the truth to him with her very presence.

“It’s better,” she tells him, one slender hand snaking across the table to snag one of his peach pieces. “It’s so much better.”

Across the room, Regina is frowning at him. She can’t approach him at the moment; he can see her weighing up the possibilities in her mind, trying to decide whether or not it’s worth risking their cover to come and see who he’s sitting with. She doesn’t usually come over, in the end. She might decide to, but then she’ll look away, down at her plate of eggs and hash browns, and she’ll forget she saw Belle at all. On the rare occasions when she has approached, there’s no danger of her recalling anything once breakfast is over.

Part of Rum feels guilty, to be hiding something so great from his partner; they’re supposed to be a team, working on a case that he has already solved, and because of his deception Regina must continue working in the Mexican heat, trying to explain something she’ll never be able to. But he’s not quite sure what else he can do. He couldn’t possibly arrest Belle; not only would it never stick, given her particular gift, but it wouldn’t be fair to her. She’s one of the most honest, upstanding people he’s ever met; the only reason she’s turned to crime is out of necessity. He can’t begrudge her that.

Besides, he loves her. It shouldn’t be possible after so little time, but he does.

Rum signals a waiter, and orders Belle her customary poached eggs on toast and orange juice. The waiter will remember the order if he gives it; just another concession they’ve had to make, another demonstration of just how difficult her life has been alone. He always feels vaguely guilty at these moments, but Belle is so used to it that she doesn’t even blink.

She’s looking unusually serious this morning, sipping at a glass of tap water while she waits for her breakfast. He doesn’t ask; he’s learned that Belle likes to come to things in her own time.

At last, she sets down the glass. “Rum,” she starts. “I know we don’t like to think about it—”

“Your reservation at the hotel ends in two days,” he interrupts. They’ve talked about it before: what they should do when the time comes to check out of the hotel. He’d love to stay in Mexico longer, let their vacation from the world linger on, but he has to get back to work, and besides, as Belle says, they have to face real life some time.

Belle’s fingers are twitching on the table; she reaches reflexively for her water glass again, but doesn’t pick it up. “How many days left until you can officially close the case?” she asks, although he can see in her face that she already knows the answer.

“One,” he says. “Regina can’t wait.” His glance flickers over to his partner, now bad-temperedly stabbing into her bacon and eggs. She’s much better suited to an office than this heavy Southern heat.

She looks up, catching his eye; her neatly plucked brows crease in a frown, and Rum looks swiftly away. The waiter is arriving with Belle’s food; he does a double-take when she indicates that it’s for her, but smiles anyway, obviously assuming that he simply forgot.

Well, he did. More completely than he can ever realise.

Belle waits until the waiter has walked away again, her eyes following him; Rum can see her lips moving silently as she counts. Always odd numbers; this time it’s seventeen. He’s not sure she even realises how frequently she does it.

At last, her attention turns back to him; she picks up her knife and fork, preparing to dig into her eggs. “I’m not going to extend my stay,” she says quietly.

He’s been expecting it, but it still makes something thud painfully against his heart. “Where will you go?” he asks.

Her eyes flicker up to his face, and a small smile curves her lips. “With you, if you’ll let me.”

That wasn’t the answer he’d expected; he pauses with his glass of orange juice halfway to his lips, barely daring to hope that she might mean it. “You… you’d want that?” He can hear his voice cracking as he speaks.

Belle’s smile grows a little wider. “I love you,” she says simply. “I want to be with you.”

Orange juice slops clumsily over the edge of the glass as Rum puts it carelessly back on the table, reaching out for her hands. She giggles just a little as he knocks a fork onto the floor in his eagerness to touch her, but he can hear the shuddering breath she takes as their fingers interlock. He can’t quite believe that she wants him; he’s been so alone for all these years since Milah left him, old and bitter and ugly, and now this beautiful soft youthful girl loves him, and it’s more than he can comprehend.

“I love you,” he tells her sincerely, and is rewarded by her blush and smile.

“Gold?” The crisp voice comes from somewhere behind his left ear; Belle looks up, and the smile fades from her face. He doesn’t have to turn around to know that Regina is standing, hands on hips, looking down at the pair of them.

“Regina,” he says warily. She steps forwards, her patent leather heels – so inappropriate in this weather, but so very _Regina_ – clicking on the tiled floor.

She looks just about as formidable as he might have imagined, her carefully plucked eyebrows raised and her mouth creased into a deep purple pucker. Her eyes flicker over to Belle. “And who’s this? Have you acquired a girlfriend since dinner last night?” she asks acidly. She knows him far too well to think that he’s been in a relationship any longer than this vacation.

Belle smiles and offers her hand, the bland expression on her face one that Rum has come to recognise; she’s about to tell a lie, to offer some sort of broad explanation that will suffice until Regina walks away, forgets. “Alison,” she says, her gentle accent suddenly a harsh South American twang. Sometimes he thinks she just does it for fun, to make her condition just slightly more entertaining. “It’s just swell to meet you.”

Regina frowns suspiciously as she gingerly shakes the proffered hand. “Regina,” she says, her lips pursed. She looks at Rum pointedly. “Care to explain yourself?”

Rum buys a little time by taking a sip of orange juice, leaning back in his chair. “I’m not on duty,” he points out. “I don’t see what the issue is.”

She tuts impatiently. “Oh, don’t give me that bullshit, Gold,” she says. “You don’t see what the issue is? Because what I see is that we’re on assignment and you’ve hired a fucking hooker because you think this is a vacation.”

Belle’s eyes are wide, but somewhat amused. “I’m flattered, ma’am, but I’m not a hooker,” she drawls, her accent now so Southern that Rum has difficulty understanding what she’s saying. She winks at Rum, who has trouble stifling a smile.

Regina glares at her. “Whatever you are, it’s not an actress,” she says icily. “Lose the accent, cowgirl, or I’ll bury you so deep _down under_ that you’ll be looking up to see home.”

“I’ll thank you not to insult my friends,” Rum says, straightening up a little. He squeezes Belle’s hand; she, however, looks more perplexed than annoyed.

Regina doesn’t even look at him. “Don’t be ridiculous, dear, everyone knows you don’t have any friends.”

“How did you know I was Australian?” Belle interrupts in her regular voice. A deep frown is creasing her forehead; now that he thinks about, it does seem odd. Her Southern accent was almost flawless, and even seeing through that, it would have been more obvious to assume she was American.

“Were you hoping I’d forget?” Regina says irritably. “It may have been brief, but I am a police officer, dear. I do remember our conversation yesterday.”

Her words hang in the air as though they’ve been carved there. Belle’s mouth is slightly ajar, her hand limp in Rum’s across the table. She stutters: “You… Yesterday?”

Regina pulls out one of the spare chairs at the table, sitting down with an elegance that Rum can only admire in this heat. “Yesterday, the day before, whenever it was,” she says, picking up the water jug. She looks up at Rum. “And I’d quite like to know what you’re doing consorting with an admitted criminal.”

Belle makes a strangled sound in the back of her throat. “You remember me telling you that?” she squeaks.

Regina pauses in sipping the water she’s poured into Belle’s glass. She glances at Rum. “Is she usually this mentally incompetent? She seemed rather more cognisant the last time we met.”

Rum leans forward, realising that Belle is so apoplectic with shock that she’s not capable of speech. “To be clear, Regina,” he says. “You remember your introduction to Miss French nine days ago?”

“Nine days ago?” Regina frowns; she looks as though she has a headache. “If you say so. And if your Alison is in fact Miss French then yes, Rum, I vaguely recall being told that we’ve found the thief we’re looking for.”

“Regina,” Rum says patiently. “If you knew Miss French was our thief, why have you waited nine days to arrest her?”

“What?” Now Regina looks up, looking just a little confused. “Well – that’s not… I don’t—” She wheels around to glare at Belle. “What did you do?”

Belle still doesn’t seem to be able to answer; her mouth is wide open, her hands trembling on the table. Rum brushes his fingers against her wrist; she doesn’t even flinch. He touches her again, and her eyes jerk up to meet his, but she still doesn’t speak. Her cheeks have two spots of pink in them.

“I’m not going to stop poking you until you give me attention,” Rum says gently. “I know this is a shock, sweetheart—”

“A _shock_?” Belle bursts out.

“Sweetheart?” Regina repeats sceptically.

It’s not difficult for him to decide which of them he’d like to answer. “I can’t imagine,” he says softly. “But surely – surely this is a good thing?”

Belle stares at him. “She can remember me,” she says. She leans forward, her eyes shining. “Rum, she can _remember_ me!”

“Am I missing something here?” Regina asks testily, drumming her long fingernails on the table top.

“No one remembers me.” For the first time ever, Belle’s voice swells with emotion as she talks about her condition; usually she keeps her voice flat and casual when she speaks about it, as though it doesn’t really matter at all. “No one ever remembers me.”

Regina rolls her eyes. “Honestly, dear, no one finds self-deprecation attractive.” Her gaze flickers over to Rum. “Although, of course, you _are_ sleeping with Gold. But perhaps that’s just to keep on the right side of the law?” Her voice drips with disdain.

“Regina—” Rum starts angrily, but Belle interrupts.

“I love him,” she says simply. “It’s got nothing to do with the law at all.”

Rum is treated, much to his delight, to the rare sight of Regina utterly speechless. Belle seems to have recovered somewhat from her shock; she’s smiling at him again, her expression as warm and lovely as ever. It’s more usually his custom to hide his emotions – they’re rarely anything anyone would want to see anyway – but he can’t resist smiling straight back at her.

Regina quickly recovers her voice. “You’re disgusting in love, Gold,” she says.

“Jealousy isn’t a good colour on you, dearie,” he replies, his eyes still on Belle, who giggles quietly. He hesitates. “Belle.”

“Yes?”

“You could go home,” he says. She frowns at him; he goes on: “What if Regina isn’t the only one beginning to remember?”

Her hands fly to her mouth. “You mean my father? You think he… you think—”

“Perhaps not,” he says quickly. “It may be best not to get your hopes up. But surely it’s worth the journey to see?”


End file.
